It was just him and Michael today in the hole. Michael had take all the men down seperately to show them the exact path they were to be taking, so that they'd engrain every step into their heads, every turn that was burning into T-bag's memory like it was being drawn into tender wood with a solder pen. At the moment the only thought that was scrawled across T-bag's brain was escape, not caring at the fact that he was alone with Pretty.

Pretty had to live.

He hated to to be so dependant on this little bastard, on any of them because he'd depended on only two things from so many people that'd had been unlucky enough to be put in his cell : sex and silence. Then Pretty comes along, the Warden denies T-bag the usual request for a cell transfer - which raised all sorts of hairs on his neck and flags in his mind, the new Fish is cocky - so cool to a degree that Maytag had told T-bag he might get frostbite on his dick if he'd ever had the chance to stick it to the boy. That had earned a couple giggles from the Alliance, and T-bag had appreciated the joke with a slight slap to the boy's mouth.

"This is the part where we get wet, okay?" Michael began, looking at T-bag as he began to remove his shirt, watching the smaller man's slender hands hang by his sides. "I need you to trust me, T-bag. By doing so I'll go in first." He said as he twisted the drain off the cover as the other man pulled his shirt off hesistantly. All the strutting in the shower, the yard, the hall...was betrayed by the momentary fear on his face. Michael stripped down to his boxers causing a grin to pull onto Theodore's face. He tugged off his boots, followed by his pants and watched Michael slide into the tube the other convict quickly following him.

"Oh Christ! Scofield it's -cold!-" T-bag almost wailed, his teeth now chattering. Michael rolled his eyes laughing a little. T-bag had wondered why the men had come back wet when their tour was over.
Michael dipped under the water, and T-bag followed his hair now plastered to his head as he swum beneath the water after Michael who moved up beneath the grate in the infirmary. T-bag gasped quietly, treading water as Michael looked up into the Grate.

"This is where we get out first, okay? Heh, I didn't think you knew how to swim." Michael suddenly stated staring at the man who was now content to glare muder at Michael.

"My uncle liked ta' throw me in his big ol' pool when I went ta' my cousin's house, Pretty. I learnt ta swim by sheer..uh, desperation. Yah. Survival insticts, s'what not." He said with a dismissive gesture on the topic. By that same gesture Michael had been raising his hand to motion they should go back and their hand's met gently.

Michael didn't pull away. T-bag stared at him. There was a shuddering breath when Michael's fingers pressed between the spaces of Theodore's fingers, spreading them gently then curved those dangerously long fingers against his knuckles and the back of his hand. A slight hitched gasp left Theodore when he was pulled closer, and in the back of his mind he expected Michael to bring a shank from his shorts - Hell who knew what Michael kept in his shorts.

Breathing was tight with them so close, and Michael remembered briefly that Theodore smelled like peppermints - a candy that Jimmy'd been sending him almost daily, a little dig into his cousin. T-bag had a happy stash of candy in the cell, and never shared it being the greedy child he was. Why was this happening? There was no romance between them, Michael reflected - none that he could see, just a dance. A bolero. Above them, the good doctor was now listening to the radio the tinny sound filtering to their ears, making this haze that was always before them - always impeding the younger's vision of the older man, making it lift, the opaue digust that had clouded his sweetly crystal'd blue eyes.

When Theodore's lips moved against his, Michael's arm around his waist and those slender calloused hands on the unblemished, tattooed skin of Michael's chest curled lightly like a child's would be - seeking heat, comfort in the ever thudding heartbeat of the one holding them. Michael had never known Theodore as a submissive as he raped the older man's mouth with his tongue, ravishing him the way he figured the man in his arm's had countless cellmates.

The kiss was vibrant like a rainbrow, the hues of it bursting through theodore's brain, igniting fires he'd long since dead since Susan. His heart sped up. His body ached for more of that touch. He rebelled. He feared. With a gasp, a tear of lips, Theodore pulled away from the caustic and burning mouth that had covered his. With shaking hands he eased Michael's finger's from his lower back and gave a brief glance through shying eyelashes dripping with crystal liquid. He looked away.

"They're gonna look for us, Michael." he said in a hoarse voice, then dipped under the water and swam away. He was climbing out of the water when Michael caught up with him. Michael frowned, lightly creasing his face with concern - he'd thought it'd been going well...?

"What's wrong?" Simple question, but it revolved around such a complex and complicated answer. T-bag squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Michael made his brain hurt.

"I can't let you happen. Can't letcha get too close, I been stabbed too many times ta let tha' happen, Michael." He muttered, pulling his clothes back onto his slender, bruise racked body. Michael frowned, gnawing on his lower lip as he redressed himself.

"I thought you wanted me-" He began but was cut off by an irritated noise.

"Unwillin' Michael. Wanted you unwillin', because it makes it so...so...much simpler in tha' mornin' if you hate me. Your eye's are his color, and I don'...don'..think I could stand wakin' up to another...pretty...loyal blue stare. I can't Michael, because if you're willin' then so was Maytag. I can't." He said hurriedly. "I can't let them see me weak. Can't let it out 'less I'm in solitary and here I am! Spillin' my feelings to you, soaked to the bone and tryin' to be the crappy, cranky bastard I always am and I CAN'T!" He shouted, now into Michael's soft warm chest the younger man's hand tangled in his hair, holding Theodore. Just like Abruzzi did. Theodore felt revolted by the smell of the younger man, and it made him break inside.
When they got out of the tunnel, Theodore said nothing, eyed himself in the mirror and fixed his slowly drying hair, nodded to Michael then left the cell.

That night, all he could remember was the thousands of beads dripping from that slender body, against the enclave of that slender stomach and how much he wanted to lick and suck his way down, to dry that skin with hands, hips, and tongues.